


All's Well That Ends Well

by PenguinofProse



Series: S4 Time Jump AUs [12]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Bellamy's jacket, Bi-Curiosity, Bisexual Bellamy Blake, Episode: s04e13 Praimfaya - Time Jump, F/M, I can't remember who requested all of these things any more, Malfunctioning radio, Wells lives, chess and friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:47:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25207210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenguinofProse/pseuds/PenguinofProse
Summary: Season 4 time jump AU. Wells is alive, Bellamy is questioning his sexuality, the radio half works, and the ending is happy.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Series: S4 Time Jump AUs [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1764070
Comments: 28
Kudos: 117





	All's Well That Ends Well

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to yet another S4 time jump AU. I'm tackling a lot of requests in one go here - keep reading for bisexual Bellamy, Wells surviving and heading to space, Bellamy hearing Clarke on the radio but Clarke not hearing him, and Clarke having Bellamy's Ark guard jacket during Praimfaya. Huge thanks to Stormkpr for her invaluable help with this one. Happy reading!
> 
> Please be warned that there's some canon-compliant discussion of suicide in this piece.

Bellamy considers Wells a friend.

Honestly, he does.

It's just that they're not _close_ friends, you know? To Bellamy's mind, a sort of Clarke-shaped spectre has always loomed between them. And that will surely be the case even more, now that Clarke is dead.

Now that it is all his fault.

If only he hadn't crashed that rover, they'd have had time to drive back to Polis. Or at the very least they'd have had time to get ready to launch the rocket in relative leisure, with fewer minor explosions and no need for Clarke to make a last-minute dash to the tower.

Wells will blame him. Bellamy doesn't doubt it. Wells blames him for almost _everything_ , as far as he can tell, from the culling on the Ark to the rise of ALIE.

No, that's unfair and not quite true. They've been doing better, these last few months, preparing for Praimfaya and actually working together to support Clarke, for a change.

But none of that matters, now that Clarke is dead and the Earth is on fire. Bellamy sits in his newly-allocated room – chosen for him by Jaha Junior himself, of course – and stares out of the window, and watches the flames.

…...

Bellamy hasn't moved, by the time the lights power up to signal that it is the next morning. There's no point moving, is there? Wells can run things on the Ring perfectly well without him. The Ring is his element, in fact – this space station has always been his territory, as the former Chancellor's son, in much the same way as Bellamy has come to consider the ground his own natural habitat.

So Bellamy can just sit here, and weep, and wonder why the hell he let Clarke run to that tower alone. Wells and Raven and Murphy could have managed to carry Monty and the oxygen scrubber between them, he's pretty sure. And then he could have stuck with Clarke, and even if they still went up in flames – well, at least they would have gone down together.

His self-loathing session is interrupted by a robust knock at the door.

"Bellamy. You need to get out here." That is Wells' voice.

Bellamy doesn't even bother answering. He has absolutely no intention of leaving this room.

"Bellamy. _Please_. We can help each other get through this."

He ignores that, too. Wells Jaha, helping him out of the goodness of his own heart? Without Clarke around to impress? That sounds unlikely at best.

"Bellamy. I – I know you miss her. I do too. Think about what she would want, Bellamy. She would want you to be happy."

He doesn't ignore that, not quite. No, he snorts instead, loud and dismissive. He's not sure whether Clarke would want him to be happy or not. But either way, it's clearly never going to happen now.

He's not capable of being happy, if she's not by his side.

…...

Raven tries his door, a couple of hours later.

"Bellamy. Wells says you're sulking. I'm guessing you're only hiding from him? Can I come in?"

He admits defeat and opens the door. He doesn't mind talking to Raven. She's never been in love with Clarke – the woman he recently as good as killed – to the best of his knowledge.

"You know you have to come out eventually." She tells him.

He huffs a little. If he was expecting sympathy, it seems he is destined to be disappointed. "I don't need to do anything. You don't need me. No one needs me. I used to think that – maybe she did. But relying on me didn't turn out so well for her, did it?"

"For God's sake, Bellamy. You crashed a rover, you didn't shoot her yourself." He flinches at that, remembering when Clarke failed to shoot him scarcely forty-eight hours ago.

That feels like a different lifetime.

"I might as well have done." He bites out, clenching his fists to keep from letting loose in a burst of frustrated violence.

"Not true." Raven tells him, sharp and dismissive. "Now get some clothes on and get out of here. You're wrong, you know – we do need you."

"Wells is here." He points out.

"Yeah. But he's not you. You know things always go best when you guys work together."

"When we work together with Clarke, you mean." His throat grows thick as he forces her name out, but he manages it.

"Well, she's not here any more. And I'm sorry about that – it sucks, OK? And I miss her too. But she wouldn't want this for you, Bellamy. She wouldn't want you to be miserable forever. So mourn her, yeah, but you need to get dressed and eat meals and live your life, too."

He nods, cautious. That does sound like something Clarke would want, actually – he can almost hear her saying it. He's not sure it's going to be as easy as Raven makes it sound, but he can certainly give it a go.

Raven sees his change of mood and continues to speak. "And – I think Wells is having a tough time, and I think your company would help."

He snorts. "Wells doesn't need any help of mine." Their friendship is an interesting one, you see.

"He does now, Bellamy. You both lost someone you loved yesterday. I think you should talk to each other about it."

The problem, as Bellamy sees it, is that the person they loved was _the same person_.

…...

Bellamy does get dressed and leave his room and eat a meal, that day. But he doesn't talk to Wells about Clarke.

He can't, OK? He just can't. Their friendship is too precarious, built on the back of loving the same woman and not being shy about it. Neither of them has ever _said_ anything of love, to be fair – either to Clarke or in conversation about Clarke with each other – but they both wear their hearts on their sleeves.

Somehow, though, over the last few months they have built up a truce, and even a kind of companionship. Neither of them has ever made any sort of move on Clarke – for Bellamy's part, he wasn't ever sure she was interested, or that the timing was right. And she was mourning Lexa for a long time. So Wells and Bellamy have made a good routine out of cordially remaining ostensibly platonic towards Clarke, since they learnt how to respect one another.

At least, Bellamy's fairly sure that's what has happened. It's difficult to be certain, given they've never said it out loud and all.

And anyway, there was never time to talk about it. They were always saving the world from one threat or another – or, more recently, _failing_ to save the world, and making do with saving a tiny proportion of the human race, instead.

But now Clarke is dead, and none of it seems to matter any more.

 _Nothing_ seems to matter any more, in fact.

…...

Bellamy makes it through the first week without talking about his feelings, apart from that one conversation with Raven – where, really, _she_ was the one talking about his feelings. He thinks that's a kind of success. If he keeps this up, he might manage the whole five years without ever admitting to himself or anyone else that his heart has been broken.

Of course, Wells Jaha has other ideas. One morning he corners Bellamy in the rec room – quite literally, backing him up against the wall such that he would have to wrestle him out of the way to pass – and starts to talk.

"You doing OK?" Wells asks, that infuriatingly kind expression on his face. Bellamy doesn't think anyone who has lived eight months on Earth has any right to look that gentle.

Bellamy shrugs by way of response, and starts musing that it really wouldn't be that difficult to wrestle him out of the way. Wells is taller but less skilled in wrestling, after all.

"You know if you're not doing OK, we could talk about it." Wells offers, quiet but firm.

"There's nothing to talk about." Bellamy lies through gritted teeth.

Wells is tenacious, unfortunately. "Bellamy. You don't have to pretend. I lost my best friend last week, and that hurts. But I can't imagine what you're going through – losing the love of your life has to be even worse."

Bellamy frowns, confused. What is Wells talking about? They _both_ lost the love of their life. That's what happened – he was there. They both lost the woman they have been trailing pathetically after for as long as they have each known her.

"What do you mean?" He asks, hating himself for his incomprehension, hating himself for his curiosity.

"You loved her." Wells points out, hands spread in a sort of soothing gesture.

"Yeah." Bellamy sees no sense in denying it. "And so did you."

"Well, yeah. I guess I did, in a way. She was my best friend. And maybe I had a bit of a crush on her when we were kids but that was before I became comfortable preferring guys." Wells drops this enormous revelation into the conversation as if it is nothing.

Bellamy chokes on thin air. Not at the idea that Wells might be into guys as well as girls – that's perfectly common. In fact, Bellamy has sometimes found himself wondering if he might like guys as well, given the time to work out his sexuality rather than saving the world. But at the idea that Wells has _not_ been deeply in love with Clarke all along.

Well. Now Bellamy feels like a bit of an idiot.

"I thought that – you know. That you liked her." He finds himself stupidly tongue-tied, now, grief and awkwardness combining to make this a very uncomfortable conversation.

Wells gives a sad laugh. "No. Not like that. You're telling me you thought I did, all this time? God, Bellamy. No wonder you always looked at me like you hated me."

"Sorry." He mumbles, feeling small, and suddenly less in the mood for wrestling his way out of this. "You did follow her around a lot. And protect her."

"Out of friendship and loyalty. Not out of that lovesick devotion thing you had going on." Wells wears a good-humoured smile.

Bellamy doesn't try to deny that. He just stands, still backed into his corner, and wonders what the hell happens next. What's his next move, on learning that he didn't have competition for the heart of a woman who's now dead, after all?

He's such a fool. Such a damn time-wasting fool.

Wondering what Clarke would do – what Clarke would _want_ – brings him rather abruptly to an answer.

"We should be friends." He suggests to Wells. It makes him feel like an awkward preschooler trying to navigate his first day in the classroom, but he pushes through it, for Clarke. "Not the way we used to be friends through her. But we should get to know each other properly without her. I think she would have wanted that."

"I think you're right."

Hugging Wells is nothing like hugging Clarke. But it's a hell of a lot better than hugging no one.

…...

Bellamy manages his grief a little more healthily, after that. With a new friend on his side, he finds that he doesn't feel such a strong need to deny his heartbreak to himself. He hasn't suddenly become one to wax lyrical on the subject of his emotions, of course – that side of himself was saved only for Clarke, and for intense moments on forest floor or moonlit beach. But he does make time every day to share stories of Clarke with Wells.

"You remember that time she traded fifty spots in Arkadia for your life?" Wells reminisces one evening. "I never thought I'd see the day. All those years growing up with her – I never would have predicted she'd turn out so willing to make sacrifices for love."

Bellamy is finding all this a bit embarrassing, really. He never quite knows how to respond when Wells suggests that Clarke might actually have reciprocated his feelings, other than being annoyed with himself for wasting time while she still lived.

He moves the conversation onward. "Remember that time at Niylah's trading post? When ALIE was trying to wear her down and she snapped and we had to carry her out of the room?" That memory will always stand out in his mind – he didn't see Clarke snap very often at all.

Wells nods, and contributes another memory, then another and yet more.

Bellamy keeps up, more or less, offering anecdotes about apples and reminiscing about high-speed chases through hostile territory.

But there are moments he keeps to himself, too. He doesn't mention the list, and the night he wrote the hundredth name. He doesn't mention holding Clarke's hand as she entered the City of Light, while Wells was shoring up their defences in the room next door.

He doesn't mention such things, because those moments are his and Clarke's, alone, and they are precious to him.

…...

They've been in space nearly a month when Bellamy goes to visit the Skybox. He's been meaning to do it almost since the moment he first offered Wells his genuine friendship, thinking that a visit to the place Clarke was in solitary would be a sensible way of grieving, and healing, and getting some closure.

But it has taken him this long to work up the courage.

He knows it's going to hurt. But that's not the worst of it. There's this sense he has, deep in his chest, that it might make him _hope_. That seeing the place where she lived, with those sketches on the floor and walls she has told him about, might make it feel like she's still with him, somehow.

That it might make him pray for her impossible survival.

There is something almost unreal about entering the Skybox, the unlocked doors hanging uselessly from their hinges. This is where the two most important women in his life spent such formative months. And now one of them is dead, and the other might be, too, for all he knows.

He knows Clarke's room when he finds it. The walls are as he expected – covered in charcoal, carpeted in images snatched from her imagination. But it is somehow not as he expected, too. It's silly, but it takes him by surprise to find that none of these pictures are of him or of their time together. He's not stupid – he knows that there is no way she could have drawn scenes that had yet to happen.

But this cell is a stark reminder that Clarke lived a life before him, and that he must now live a life after Clarke.

He perches on the bed and has a proper look at some of the drawings. That tree there is an oak, he thinks, but the shape of the canopy is not quite like the ones they saw together on the ground. There is a bear, and even a lion, but no panther – and although he knows there is no reason why there _should be_ a panther, it still sucks to be without it.

Above all, the things he associates most strongly with the ground are missing. When he thinks of Earth, he does not think of foliage or mountaintops. He thinks of frantic laughter, and the sharp thirst of hiking in the sun. And more than anything he thinks of Clarke's frown – that frown which is somehow half way to a smile, which says she's frustrated and scared and stressed beyond belief, but happy at least to be stressed with him by her side.

He sobs, loud and long, and watches as his heavy tears soak into the worn mattress.

…...

He visits the Skybox again the next day, and the day after that. He's aware that it's not necessarily very healthy to do so, but he figures it could be worse. It's not like he's hurting himself or anything. He's just crying over a load of sketches a young woman who was never his girlfriend drew before they even knew each other.

Yeah. It's weird, and he knows it's weird.

For that reason he hides it, more or less. He doesn't sneak down the hallways and peer furtively around corners when he's heading there, or anything. But he doesn't advertise what he's doing.

Wells works it out all the same.

"I could come with you some time. If you need moral support or whatever." Wells offers, unprompted, as they wait for the others to arrive for breakfast.

Bellamy does not bother pretending not to understand what he's on about. "I'm OK, thanks. It's something I like to do alone."

Wells simply nods, patient and kind as always. Bellamy rather wonders how he manages it, and is a bit annoyed with himself for giving such poor repayment in this new friendship.

"Thank you for offering, really." He mumbles, feeling rather inadequate.

"No problem. I get it. It's a way of being close to her and remembering your relationship." Wells summarises, as if reading his mind.

Bellamy frowns, not sure how to reply to that. He remembers the days, not so long ago, when he thought Wells was just like his father. An engineer like his father, a politician like his father.

Nowadays he knows that Wells is nothing like Jaha senior at all.

…...

Bellamy keeps going to the Skybox but he attempts to behave normally around that, too. He remembers to go to meals, and he even starts shaving once more. That seems like an easy way of giving the appearance of holding it together, even when he is on the point of falling apart.

"I'm sure I speak for all of us when I say I missed your jawline." Wells offers cheerfully, the first morning Bellamy leaves his room clean-shaven.

Bellamy grins. He knows he's supposed to. It's the kind of lighthearted mild flirtation he's engaged in with dozens of friends before now, and he supposes he will have the same conversations again if ever the world stops ending.

But there's something about it that has his cheeks heating all the same.

…...

Bellamy returns often to the question of whether he might be into men if ever he had the peaceful time and space to figure it out, in the weeks that follow. He's aware that such big questions are probably best considered in a rather different context – not hot on the heels of losing the love of his life – but it has become a pressing issue since his friendship with Wells has developed in recent weeks.

The thing is, he's beginning to wonder whether he might be into Wells.

He's not really worked it out yet. He figures that's fair enough – his emotional and romantic senses are hardly going to be firing on all cylinders since he left Clarke behind so recently.

But he'd like to work it out. He'd like to know whether he likes Wells as _Wells_ , or as a guy or a friend or both. He'd like to know whether he's simply lonely and looking for comfort, or whether there is more going on here than this.

Most of all he'd like to know whether he's interested in _Wells_ , or whether he's just clinging onto this last link to Clarke.

The last link, that is, besides fading, smudged drawings on cold prison walls.

…...

He's been officially friends with Wells for a month when there is a most unexpected development.

"Bellamy. I got you something." Wells announces, striding into his bedroom one afternoon with scarcely a knock.

Encounters like this don't make it any easier to sort out his confusing feelings, what with the gift giving and the entering his bedroom and all.

"You did?" He asks, voice rather closer to a squeak than to a growl.

"Yeah. Come on, we're going to engineering." With that, Wells starts leading the way.

Bellamy makes haste to follow. He's not sure what his new friend could possibly have given him that would be in engineering. The few times he's had gifts in his life before now, they have almost always been books. There was that one time his mother gave him nearly-new school shoes, but he doesn't suppose that's what Wells is about to come up with.

"Here we go." Wells announces, when they arrive. Raven turns round and shushes them a little, and Emori gives a cheery wave.

"What am I looking at?" Bellamy asks, casting around the room in a confused fashion. He swears he used to be less confused in general, before Wells.

"I fixed a radio. I thought you might like to try talking to your sister." Wells explains, gesturing to a box on a nearby table.

Bellamy can't believe it. That's certainly not a pair of second-hand school shoes. It is, without doubt, the best gift he has ever been given. Just when he was feeling so lonely, and was spending so many hours in the Skybox, now he has hope of speaking to Octavia once more.

He pulls Wells into a hearty hug, slapping him on the back a few times for good measure.

"Thanks. That's really – thank you."

Wells brushes aside his gratitude, and sits him down at the radio, and gets it set up and working for him.

"Here we are. Just talk."

"Hey. O. I don't know if you can hear me." Bellamy clears his throat awkwardly. He's pretty sure that's not radio protocol, but he's feeling too emotional right now to do much better. "This is Bellamy, calling the bunker. I don't know if you're there, O."

He breaks into a happy grin as the radio crackles into life.

But it is not his sister who speaks. To his utter shock – and total joy – it is _Clarke_.

"Hey, Bellamy. So I make this day thirty-seven. Again, might be thirty-six, might be thirty-eight. Still not sure how long I was out for."

"Clarke -"

She carries on as if he never spoke. "So, anyway. That doesn't matter. Let's call it day thirty-seven. I'm still in the lab, of course. I found another box of rations today so I figure that gives me an extra week before I get out of here and see if the nightblood works."

There is a pause. He takes his chance and butts in again. "Clarke, hey. Can you hear -?"

"You always did have hope." She cuts him off again. "I miss that about you the most. Or do I miss your smile more? No, I think I just miss having you with me. The way you were always there when I needed someone. Real cheerful, Clarke. I'm sorry, I'm getting sentimental today."

"That's OK, Clarke." There are tears flooding his cheeks as he takes in her words and babbles senseless reassurances. He's loosely aware of Wells fiddling with some dials on the radio, but he ignores him. "It's OK that you're feeling like that. I miss you too. So much. I wish I could tell you how -"

Yet again, Clarke interrupts. "So I think that's me done for the day. Yet again, I have no real news. Yet again, you're not there. I wonder if I'll ever give up on this?"

"Don't give up." He pleads, beginning to understand that she cannot hear him. "Please don't ever give up on me."

"Who am I kidding? There's no way I could give up on you, Bellamy. I'll be here again tomorrow. Stay safe."

With that, the radio lapses into silence.

There is a moment's shocked pause. And then suddenly everyone in the room is talking, all at once.

"She's alive." Emori gasps, stunned.

"She can't hear me." Bellamy mutters. He's overjoyed that she's alive, of course he is. It's quite literally the best news he's had in his entire life, but he's still devastated that she can't hear him.

"Is it transmitting?" Raven asks Wells, brow quirked.

"Yeah. Definitely transmitting. And like you heard, we're receiving her just fine. She must have a knackered radio. She's not hearing us at her end."

Bellamy resists the urge to scream. Clarke is alive, and he must focus on that. The love of his life is still breathing, and with than news he feels like a weight has been lifted from his heart.

But if he has to spend the next five years listening to her missing him, powerless to respond, just because she has _a knackered radio_ , he swears he will lose his mind.

…...

Bellamy spends the next forty-eight hours or so glued to the radio. Of course he does – he doesn't want to miss a single word Clarke might say. So it is that he sits, eats, and even sleeps in engineering, just to be on the safe side.

He keeps trying to talk to her, too. But mostly he does that when Raven and Wells and Emori are not around, because he doesn't have much use for their pitying looks. He says his sister's name several more times, as well, but doesn't hear from her at all.

By the end of the second day, he's wondering whether he might have found a kind of pattern. Clarke mostly seems to call with her daily updates at about the same time. Perhaps he ought to get on with some semblance of a normal life, and just check back in here in good time to hear her message?

Raven decides it for him, in the end.

"Bellamy. Go shower. And then I hear Echo and Harper are looking for a sparring partner." Raven instructs him.

He looks at her, confused. "But I have to stay here. In case Clarke calls."

She shakes her head. "I have it set up to record. Look – the moment any noise comes out of that radio it'll get stored on this data drive." She gestures to a mysterious black box. "So you can check back in when you expect her to call tomorrow, and if she breaks the pattern, you'll be able to listen to the recording anyway."

He likes this. He likes it a lot. If Raven can record the messages – well, then. That means he can listen to them as many times as he likes. It means he can listen to them _whenever_ he likes. It means that, when he's having difficulty sleeping at night, when he is met with images of Clarke going up in flames every time he closes his eyes, he can listen to the sound of her living voice instead.

"Thanks, Raven. That means a lot."

She waves a dismissive hand. "I know. I'm awesome. Now go take that shower."

…...

There is nothing much of note about the content of Clarke's messages, those first few weeks, while she recuperates in the lab. Bellamy is able to listen between the lines and figure out that she was badly burned, and very ill from the radiation, but she seems to be doing better now.

"I guess I might leave this place soon." She muses, this morning. "I've only got a week or so of rations left. I don't really know what to do next, Bellamy."

She pauses, evidently swallowing down tears, and he takes his opportunity to speak. He still takes care to contribute to the conversation, even though he knows she cannot hear a word he says.

"You'll be OK, Clarke. You got this. You just need to keep breathing until I can get home."

She lets out a damp chuckle, almost as if she has heard him, and for a moment hope flares in his chest. "I just have to keep breathing, right? That's what you would say if you could hear me, I'm pretty sure. I hope you're OK up there, Bellamy." Another sticky swallow. "I really hope you made it. I have to believe you did otherwise I'd go insane down here. I found your jacket – the one you left behind in the lab that last day. It still smells like you."

He finds himself welling up at that. He never quite expected pragmatic Clarke Griffin to be clinging to his ragged old Ark Guard jacket during their five years' separation. "I bet it looks good on you." He whispers uselessly into the emptiness.

Clarke carries on speaking, of course. "That was a little pathetic, wasn't it? I'll move on. I've got this theory you and Wells have become best friends now. Maybe that's naive. I just really hope you've managed to move past your differences and help each other out up there. He's a good guy, and you're – well, you're _you._ "

He decides, in that moment, faced with the evidence of her clinging to his jacket, that _you're you_ means exactly what he has always wanted it to mean.

…...

In a world where Clarke is still alive, and he's becoming increasingly convinced she might actually love him, Bellamy finds it much easier to conclude that he could have been into Wells, if the circumstances were different. Now that he knows Clarke survived, it simply doesn't matter who else he might ever be attracted to. He will never love anyone else as much as he loves her, and that's that. It takes some of the pressure off, and Wells becomes just another person on the long list of people he would have been more seriously into in a world without Clarke.

Gina's right at the top of that list, and he still feels guilty about that to this day.

This realisation only makes his friendship with Wells more comfortable, thank goodness. He finds himself able to observe in passing that his friend is an attractive and kind guy, then get on with being in love with Clarke without awkwardness.

Sometimes they sit and listen to Clarke's calls together, but more often Wells lets him listen alone.

"You could come listen to Clarke today if you want?" Bellamy offers at breakfast, as he has often offered in recent weeks.

Wells demurs kindly. "I don't mind, really. It's your private time with her, and that's as it should be."

"I don't think it's going to be anything very private today. She's planning to leave the lab so I guess it'll be about that rather than – you know – _us_."

Wells snorts. "You two had better practise using the L-word before we land. I'm not spending another five years when we get back there listening to the pair of you talk about _caring_ and _together_ and _us_. Get your act together, Bellamy."

Bellamy only grins in response. He misses Clarke, and she's thousands of miles away, and that sucks. But she's alive, and she probably loves him, and frankly, that victory snatched from the jaws of defeat has him too happy for words.

…...

His happiness dies that same afternoon.

Clarke is late – and not just a couple of minutes late, which has been known to happen before now. No, she's several _hours_ late, and evening must be falling now where she is, and he's going out of his mind with worry.

He's grateful, in this moment, that Wells joined him today after all. They talk about a great deal of irrelevant rubbish while they wait for her – chore schedules and algae farming and Echo and Harper striking up a friendship. Above all, they do not talk about Clarke's delay. They do not question what it means.

Or at least, they do not question it out loud. Inside his head, Bellamy is thinking of almost nothing else. She was supposed to leave the lab today, and now she hasn't checked in, and he cannot help but think that those two things must be related. Has the nightblood failed her after all? Has she died of radiation poisoning, or of some other unexpected danger like mutant animals or fire or a simple accident? Has she fallen into an abandoned spiked pit, without him on hand to catch her, this time round?

"You know, I think we should start having chess tournaments." Wells offers, carefully cheerful.

That's it. That's the moment Bellamy snaps. "Wells. Stop it. I don't want to talk about chess when she's dying down there."

"We don't know that she's -"

He stops speaking abruptly, as the radio crackles into life at last.

"Hey. It's me. Still not dead." Bellamy hears Clarke's familiar voice and slumps back in his chair, hot relief washing over him. "Sorry I'm late. I was digging out the rover and I wanted to finish before dark, just in case anything nasty has survived out here. I figured you wouldn't mind seeing as you're not actually hearing me and all. Real sensible, Clarke. Talking to yourself."

"I'm here." He whispers. He knows it's pointless, but he has to tell her all the same.

"So I managed to dig the rover out. It even started first time. Finally, a lucky break. I think I'm going to go to Polis and see if I can get into the bunker. I've got all my rations, and lots of water. And your jacket and rifle, of course. I couldn't leave them behind." She pauses, sniffs a little. "I'm wearing your jacket right now. It's a bit big for me, but it's warm. And it turns out deserts are cold at night."

He feels a smile spreading over his face quite without his permission. He wonders what Wells thinks of Clarke wearing his jacket, and sneaks a covert glance at him, but his friend is only smiling that benevolent smile of his.

"I'm going to get some sleep. It's been a long day of digging. My hands are going to be sore in the morning." She gives a small chuckle. "It's good. I've got a rover. I'm starting to believe I might actually make it, you know? Sleep well, Bellamy. Sweet dreams."

"You too, Clarke. Goodnight."

He wonders how badly Raven would tease him if he asked her to make him a little recording of Clarke wishing him _sweet dreams_ , playing on an endless, night-long loop.

…...

He tracks her progress closely in the following days. She meets with no success at Polis, and he can hear that she is heartbroken about it. She ventures to Arkadia, and finds only ghosts. And it's upsetting to listen to her losing courage, but he still has hope. She's a survivor, his Clarke, and he knows she's not about to let a couple of setbacks get her down.

He loses hope, very abruptly, when she calls him from the middle of a desert.

"I think this might be goodbye, Bellamy. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I feel like I've let you down. You'd want me to be tougher than this, but I just can't do it." She breaks off into anguished sobs.

He's panicking, and helpless, and separated from her by the vastness of space. She can't hear him, and he knows he's speaking to himself, but still he has a go at talking her down.

"You're OK, Clarke. It's OK to feel overwhelmed sometimes. It sounds like you've had a hell of a time of it. But you can do this, I know you can. Just keep breathing, OK? Just breathe, and try to -"

"I think I'd cope better if you were here. People have told me I'm strong a lot since we came to Earth. But I don't think they realised how much of that was thanks to you. Your support was everything, Bellamy. So thank you for that. And if this is goodbye – I want you to know how much you meant to me." She gulps a little, and continues. "I'm in the middle of a desert. I haven't had water in days. I can't remember the last time I saw another living creature except bugs. The rover broke down – I had to abandon it. And here I am with a radio and a rifle and still carrying your jacket around. It makes me feel like you're still supporting me, you know?"

"I am." He whispers fervently. "I always will, Clarke."

"Give my best to Wells. He was a good friend to me. And I hope you'll go on to find happiness, too. You deserve it. I think -"

She stops speaking, very abruptly. He waits with baited breath for the rest of her sentence, but it never comes.

Is that it? Has she succumbed to exhaustion or dehydration or her own desperate state of mind? Has he lost her, now, weeks after Praimfaya, just when he was beginning to believe she might really be able to make it?

He can't move. He sits at the radio, rooted to the spot, for minutes that stretch out into hours. He doesn't know what he's waiting for. Is he still hoping against hope that she will come back and finish that sentence? Is he expecting to hear a gunshot, or a last anguished scream?

The engineering team are scouring the Ring for fuel today. It's just as well – it means he doesn't have an audience. Usually his friends clear out for the duration of the call to give him some privacy, but on any other day they'd have been back by now. They'd be here to ask awkward questions about why there are tears rolling silently down his cheeks as he stares, fixated, at the radio.

He has a headache from crying when, miraculously, the radio spews out sound once more.

"Bellamy. Hey. I'm sorry if I gave you a fright. Not that you can hear me, but whatever. I'm OK, Bellamy. I'm – I'm alive. I found water. I found food. I found this beautiful green valley with plants and animals. It's like the death wave skipped right over it."

He sighs, loud and long. He's supposed to respond, he supposes, but he is completely lost for words.

Clarke seems to be struggling to think of anything useful to say, too. From what he can hear in her tone, it sounds like she is rather overwhelmed by this sudden improvement in her circumstances.

Just as he is wondering whether she is done for the day, she speaks up once more.

"I think – maybe I'll be OK now, Bellamy. Maybe I can make this work. Maybe we'll meet again in five years' time, you and me."

He lets out a relieved laugh. "I'll hold you to that."

…...

Clarke flourishes, now that she has found her miraculous valley of green. And because Clarke is doing well, Bellamy flourishes too. He feels so much more relaxed, knowing that there is a genuine likelihood of her surviving the next five years. Sure, she still needs to survive the wildlife and the elements. But Clarke's good at surviving, so his hope swells into tentative faith.

He doesn't spend so much time in the Skybox, since he started being able to hear her on the radio. He stops by every so often, just for old time's sake. But little by little, he starts to live a vaguely normal life in this tin can in the sky.

Clarke would like that, he's pretty sure. She tells him, often, that she thinks of him going through the motions of an everyday routine.

"I hope the algae isn't too terrible." She tells him today. "I had rabbit for lunch, which I guess you'd be jealous of. But you had people to sit with at lunch, and talk to – and believe me when I say I'm jealous of that." She sighs. "How's Wells? No, I know you're not going to answer. I just thought it was worth a try." Another sigh. "I hope you're helping each other out. Has he taught you how to play chess yet? If he teaches you how to play chess we can play together if we ever get time at peace, when you come home."

"I'd like that." He murmurs uselessly. He would like that – he knows nothing about chess, but a quiet evening spent playing a pointless game with Clarke sounds like his idea of heaven.

"I should go. I want to get to the lake and back before dark. Take care, Bellamy. Speak to you tomorrow."

"You too."

He gets swiftly to his feet, decisive and almost motivated.

He needs to go ask Wells to teach him how to play chess.

…...

Clarke gets some company, only the following day. It is as if the universe heard her jealousy at him for having companions at the lunch table, he thinks, and decided to set the score right in the most twisted of ways.

Her company is the child from hell, apparently.

"I'm OK." Clarke insists, for perhaps the fifth time since she started this call, by Bellamy's count. "Honestly, it's not a _bad_ wound. It's deep, and the trap wasn't clean. But it was sharp, so the edges are neat. It shouldn't scar too badly."

She pauses briefly, and he takes his chance to speak. "You have to take care of yourself." He pleads into the silence.

She carries on, of course, ignoring the words she cannot hear. "I don't think it's infected. I cleaned it well. I just feel a bit – you know – washed out. As I should, after all that blood loss. There's nothing else wrong with me, I'm sure of it." A pause. "This girl is impossible. She keeps stealing my food while I'm lying here with my leg up. I just want to reach out to her – she must be feeling even more lost than I am. She's only young, Bellamy. I just want to help her."

That's Clarke – picking up waifs and strays and _good causes_ wherever she goes. Even if she nearly loses a leg in the process.

"My leg's fine." She repeats again for good measure. "I'm fine. Really. Just a little fever maybe, but I'll be OK. I don't want you to worry about me."

It's a bit late for that, he thinks sourly. Worrying about Clarke is his calling in life. And she's certainly not helping, with her senseless babbling and audible pain.

He just wishes he was there. He wishes he was there to make it better.

…...

She recovers, thank goodness. Within days, she is offering bright comments on her improving circumstances.

"It's all turned out OK, see? It's healing nicely. I'm sorry if I worried you but it's all turned out just fine."

He frowns, frustrated with her. Standard Clarke – she's recovered, so she's more than prepared to dismiss the agony she went through along the way.

"The little girl spoke to me this morning. You know how I said I gave her that sketch yesterday? So today she asked if I could teach her how to draw. And she said she'd teach me fishing in exchange. It turns out her name is Madi."

"That's a sweet name." He offers uselessly.

"It's a nice name, isn't it? So there we go. I've got a new friend – or maybe a new responsibility – and her name's Madi. I'm not on my own any more, Bellamy. We both have people to help us through this now. Isn't that great?"

It is great. He's still worried sick about her, but at least now he knows she isn't down there all alone. If anything, he thinks, maybe there is some good to be found here. That kid would never survive five years without Clarke's help.

Maybe, in a twisted, tragic kind of way, things have all turned out for the best.

…...

Bellamy tells Wells about Madi that evening. They're playing chess together – or rather, Wells is playing chess, and Bellamy is moving playing pieces senselessly around the board.

"Clarke's made a friend." Bellamy offers lightly.

"A friend?"

"That little girl I told you about? Who led her into the bear trap and was causing her trouble? They're drawing and fishing together now."

Wells gives a hearty laugh. "Of course they are. What was it Roan said that time, about Clarke and how she could convince anyone to become friends?"

"She never did manage to convince me to befriend Roan." He reminisces cheerfully.

"No. That would be impossible. You were too busy hating him for so much as looking at her. You used to give me the same looks, only you hid them better because you didn't want to annoy Clarke."

"I've matured since the ground." He offers, tone more than a little aloof.

Wells laughs again. "Definitely. Matured. It's just as well – if Clarke's managed to adopt herself a kid, it sounds like you're going to end up as a father when we get back there."

It's supposed to be a joke, Bellamy thinks. But he's not laughing. He's just smiling a cautious little smile and feeling the tips of his ears heat with embarrassed enthusiasm for the idea.

…...

Bellamy worries about Clarke less with each passing week, now that she has company and water and a steady food supply.

That's not saying much, of course. He still worries about her a lot. It's just that he manages to move on from the outright terror he felt at first, and achieves instead a kind of quietly simmering anxiety. He learns to work around it, playing chess and working out and helping with chores on the Ring.

He loses the plot every time Clarke reveals during a call that she has so much as an annoying splinter, but he doesn't tell the others about his panic-prone streak.

Something gives him the impression that Wells sees straight through him, but he's a good enough friend that he never pries.

…...

Raven has been pestering all the guys about getting their hair cut. Bellamy has to concede she has a point – he can scarcely see where he's going, now, so long are the curls that are falling into his eyes. But it's just never made it to the top of his list of priorities, yet.

It's when Wells agrees with her that she gets her way. That's mostly how it works, round here, as they rule by committee. As soon as Wells and Raven agree on anything, it gets done, regardless of Bellamy's feelings on the matter. He's not _against_ haircuts, as such. It just feels a little weird to have his good friend Raven trimming his hair on the basis she used to do the same for Finn.

He has no complaints when she's done. His hair is shorter than he's worn it in years, but as he looks in the mirror, he decides he's a fan. He tries not to be vain about it, but he reckons it makes him look a bit younger and more carefree, helps him to shed some of the stress of fearing for Clarke's life.

She does a good job on the others, too. Murphy turns out to be surprisingly handsome once he loses the slicked-back look that was doing him no favours. Monty appears more mature with his new style, and Wells opts for the close-cropped cut Bellamy remembers from early days on the ground.

They all loiter around and compliment each other – or pull each other's leg – while Raven is working. It's _nice_ , with an atmosphere of camaraderie and group banter that he cannot remember having experienced in quite some time – possibly since he was a cadet.

It's nice, until he puts his foot in it.

"Looking good, Wells." He offers lightly.

Wells throws him a surprised look, eyes narrowed, and he realises he may have got himself into trouble here.

All the same, Wells keeps it jovial. "You too, Blake. Shaved _and_ new hair? We're blessed."

"Yeah. Thanks." He coughs. Just his luck. It's typical of his ineptitude, this whole awkward situation.

"Bellamy -"

"Do you think Clarke will like it?" He asks, a little too quickly, a little too deliberately. "I can't help wondering whether Clarke will like it. Seeing as I'm waiting to get home to her, you know."

He could probably have found a better time and place for this conversation, he chastises himself firmly. There could certainly have been a more subtle and tactful way of telling his good friend that he thinks he's a very attractive guy and all, but he's saving himself for someone he loves more than he ever dreamed of loving anyone. That the only way they would have got together was, quite literally, over Clarke's dead body.

To his surprise, Wells doesn't seem at all bothered by the conversation. He simply rolls his eyes and speaks in a good-humoured tone. "I get it, Bellamy. I _already_ got it."

"That's good." Bellamy's jaw works a little. "Because – ah – you're a great friend, you know?"

Wells nods. "I know. That's why I think that not hooking up with you is a pretty small price to pay for Clarke being alive."

With one last bright grin, he is off, tousling Monty's new haircut as he goes.

…...

Bellamy has been learning chess for several months when he first beats Wells. Even then, he suspects that his friend might have engineered this victory to boost his confidence. That seems like the kind of thing Wells would do.

How this fundamentally sweet guy survived the horrors of planet Earth remains a mystery to him.

They teach Murphy chess, next. They decide it's a good idea to do so. Emori is learning some engineering from Raven, and Bellamy has enough leadership instinct and Wells enough earnest kindness to know that letting Murphy slouch around with nothing to do is not in the long-term interests of either him as an individual or the group as a whole. Murphy is the kind of guy who needs to keep occupied and feel valued. And Bellamy can testify from personal experience that chess is a surprisingly good tool to achieve those ends.

"What the hell did you just do?" Murphy asks him, one early lesson, frowning at the board.

It is Bellamy who is playing, but Wells who answers the question. "It's called castling."

"Why would you want to do it?" Murphy asks, half way to glowering.

Bellamy shrugs. "Because I want to win."

For a moment, he wonders if John Murphy might be about to hit him. But in the end, he takes a rather different approach and gives a careless shrug.

"I can respect that. Winning is good."

This is almost, Bellamy thinks, starting to feel like a family.

…...

Clarke still has her low days, of course, as months lengthen into years. A full stomach and one child for company are not a complete recipe for happiness, it turns out.

"I'm missing you today. Day four hundred and thirteen, I make it, by the way. But – yeah – not my best day. We went fishing this morning and that was good. But then Madi found one of my sketches of Jasper and asked about him and – that set me off a bit." She sniffles quietly. "I'm sorry, I'm being stupid. I'm alive, and Madi's fine, and that's what counts. And I've still got your jacket, but it doesn't smell like hugging you so much any more." A self-conscious laugh. "Pathetic, Clarke. Absolutely pathetic."

"It's not pathetic." He tells her firmly. "There's nothing _pathetic_ about you, Clarke. And I think knowing you're wearing my old jacket is keeping me sane every bit as much as it's helping you."

She continues regardless, because that's how this works. "I always feel better after talking to you. That's crazy, right, when you're not even there? Sometimes I wonder if I'm leaning on the real you or some idealised, patient, caring version of you who exists only in my imagination. Have I just invented myself the perfect absent friend?"

When he's back by her side again, he resolves that he's going to do everything he can to be the perfect – and thoroughly _present_ – partner.

…...

Monty likes to hold a sort of memorial, crossed with a celebration, to commemorate death wave day. He started doing it that first year, and he continues it through the second and third, with no sign that he intends to let up in the future.

Bellamy thinks it's a good idea, and his vote carries weight round here, so the event becomes a key institution of their calendar. It's an opportunity to celebrate their escape and Clarke's miraculous survival. It's a time to pray for the wellbeing of his sister and Kane and Miller and all the other friends they have left, trapped beneath the ground. But most of all it's a chance to commemorate Jasper and Bree and Roan and so many others killed as the world was ending. They branch out, too, into remembering those who died earlier on in their time on Earth, Atom and Roma and Gina and all the rest.

It's a sad day, for the most part. But it's sad in a good way, a cathartic way. It's the kind of pain that comes with cleaning out a really deep wound and knowing it will heal better, now, for gritting your teeth while it stings.

The thing is that, for Bellamy, it hurts more than it does for the others. Because he also hears Clarke counting down the days until they meet again.

…...

The third anniversary is gone and the fourth is still some way off when Wells lets slip the bad news.

"Clarke's having a good day." Bellamy informs his friend as they play chess. They play chess in the evenings quite a lot, now.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. She's looking forward to seeing us again. These last couple of months she's been much more positive – it's like the end of the five years feels closer, now, you know?"

Wells swallows loudly, apparently rather uncomfortable.

"Wells?" Bellamy prompts, concerned.

"The end of the five years is pretty close." He concedes carefully. "We might not be ready by then."

"Ready? What do you mean, _ready_?"

Wells hesitates, then explains, brows drawn together in earnest distress. "The fuel. We still don't have enough. We're scrounging from old missiles, storage, whatever we can find. We even found an illegal stash at Nygel's old place the other day. But it's not enough."

Bellamy is angry. It hits him, hard and fast. He is angry with the engineering team – there are three of them, all competent. How have they not managed to fix this yet?

But most of all he's angry with himself. He's been sitting here, playing chess, listening to Clarke, sometimes training, and occasionally washing dishes – and he calls that _leadership_? He's ashamed of himself. He never even knew that the fuel search was ongoing. He just presumed Wells and Raven and Emori had fixed it, as they seem to fix everything round here.

If Clarke has to spend a single second lonely beyond those five years because he did not think to help out with the fuel problem, he will never forgive himself.

"What can I do?" He asks, direct and a little brash.

Wells shrugs. "Nothing much, we'll keep working away at it."

"No, Wells. What can I do?" He sounds each syllable out slowly, deliberately. He will not take no for an answer.

Wells fixes him with a considering sort of look. "If you want to help look, I guess an extra person on the job can't hurt."

Bellamy nods, gets to his feet. Pushes the chess board away. "Great. Let's go."

Wells simply shakes his head. "Pull it together, Bellamy. We're not going to find anything running around the Ring late at night and opening doors at random. Come to engineering tomorrow. In the meantime, rest and recreation are important." He pauses, then pulls out his trump card. "Clarke won't thank you if you're sick and exhausted by the time you get home to her."

It's a fair argument, but he has a better one. "Clarke won't thank me if I'm _late_."

Wells sighs, and pastes on a half-convincing smile. "We'll fix it. We always do. The hundred always come through."

It's a cheerful thought, but Bellamy has often found himself thinking that Wells' smiley optimism borders on naivety.

…...

Bellamy presents himself promptly the following morning to help with the fuel hunt. The others take on the more challenging tasks of dismantling various pieces of machinery, while he is sent to search from apartment to apartment for illegal hoarded fuel.

He doesn't find any, the first day. He searches behind beds and in the depths of kitchen cupboards and even in spaces beneath the floorboards like the one his sister used to hide in. He doesn't find any the next day, either, nor the next day, nor the day following, nor the one after that.

Somehow, though, he feels better for _trying_. He feels better for putting real physical effort into the challenge of getting back to Clarke, heaving furniture around and crawling in closets on his hands and knees.

He still makes time for her daily radio calls, of course. She tells him about the hard labour of hauling a deer carcass home single-handed, followed by a harsh winter that has her bundled in furs and shivering beneath his old jacket.

He feels more part of that world, somehow, now he has a proper job to do. He feels more connected with the realities of trying to survive, rather than only killing time until he can live at her side once more.

He's been searching for three months when he finds half a gallon of illegal hydrazine hidden in a family's abandoned bathroom.

It might just be the best day of his life.

…...

Bellamy, Wells and Murphy still manage to find time for their chess evenings, in between their daytime tasks. In fact, Murphy even helps Bellamy with the fuel search, just very occasionally. Just when he fancies playing at being a good guy for an hour or two.

They decide to expand their chess club and teach Echo the game. It is Wells' idea – of course it is. Ever the peacemaker and a politician to his core, he sees this as a noble opportunity for forging new friendships, or some such.

Bellamy just looks forward to playing chess against someone new. He knows the other two a little too well, by now. He can predict their moves too easily. He's never going to be able to give Clarke an entertaining game when they're reunited if he doesn't get in a bit more practice against challenging opponents.

Echo turns out to be good at the game, much to Murphy's annoyance. Bellamy is glad of it though – having a canny spy to test his skills against can only force him to improve.

They have a little tournament one night, between the four of them. Bellamy narrowly beats Wells to make it to the final against Echo, and the rest of the crew watch as they play.

"I don't see the appeal." Raven says, although no one has asked. "It's not a _useful_ skill, is it? You're not going to fix a rocket by playing chess with it."

"It's useful in a different way. It teaches strategy and attention to detail." Wells suggests.

"I played it a couple of times with my dad when I was young." Monty offers, unsolicited.

Bellamy jumps a little, and almost fluffs his next move. He's never really heard Monty talk about his father, not in all the years he has known him. And heaven knows there is a good reason he doesn't talk much about his mother.

"You could play with us some time, if you like." Wells offers Monty a warm smile.

"Could I join, too?" Harper asks, eyes narrowed at the board in careful observation. "It's been more fun to watch than I expected. I think I get the idea."

Emori turns to Raven with a wolfish grin. "You lose, Raven. Looks like you're outnumbered."

"I guess it couldn't hurt to learn." Raven concedes primly.

Bellamy smiles broadly, even though Echo is winning soundly. He doesn't much care about who wins the game, now. It has had the real outcome he hoped for.

It has made this place a family home at last.

…...

The final winter before their five years elapse is a harsh one. Bellamy is reminded, as he listens to Clarke, of snow lit up orange by the oncoming death wave, and of shivering with panic as well as cold.

She tries to be upbeat about her circumstances, but he can hear that she's finding it tough.

"I keep telling myself I'm nearly there." She says. "This is the last winter I have to survive without you guys. We've got plenty of firewood – if the snow stays another six months we could still manage. Madi's got winter clothes – you or Octavia would have done better with sewing the furs but I managed. And I've got your jacket, of course."

"You're so close." He whispers into the silence. "Nearly there, Clarke. I'll be home soon."

"It's food I'm worried about." She continues, voice beginning to shake. "There's no game while the snow is so thick. The river is frozen so no fish." A pause. "We've got some grain stored from last year. And some smoked meat. We'll be OK. We _have_ to be OK. No way am I going and dying on you just before you get back. Not when I've survived this long."

"You're going to make it." He says, to reassure himself, rather than her, seeing as she cannot hear him and all.

"We'll make it. I still have hope." She tells him, an upwards lilt to her tone, a blatant reference to one of those special moments that belongs to the two of them and no one else.

In the silence that follows, before she hangs up, he can hear her breathing. Just breathing. Still breathing.

…...

The snow melts, and Clarke and Madi get back to their fishing, and Bellamy starts to believe that they might really make it. That they might yet meet again, and all might ultimately turn out well enough.

But then, of course, he finds something new to worry about.

"How am I ever going to make this up to her?" He asks Wells one day. "How can I ever put it right? I left her behind, Wells. I left her to deal with radiation and snow and motherhood and God only knows what else she hasn't even told me about. How can I ever make up for that?"

Wells laughs at him a bit, but kindly – more or less. That's standard Wells, he supposes. He ought to expect it by now. They've been friends for the best part of five years, after all.

"She won't hold it against you at all, Bellamy. She'll be too happy to see you safe and too keen to get on with life."

"You don't think she'll be bothered?" Wells has known Clarke longer than he has, so he trusts his opinion. Even if it's fair to say that Bellamy has been more intimately acquainted with her every thought in the last five years.

"Not at all. All's well that ends well."

"That's Shakespeare." Bellamy notes. It reminds him of a day long ago, staring up at the sky and sharing Oppenheimer quotes with a young blonde woman who just kept making him smile, no matter how grim the circumstances.

"Amongst others." Wells puffs out his chest a little, in that precious politician stance of his. "You know, it was also -"

"Admit it." Bellamy cuts him off with a teasing grin. "You're surprised I knew that."

"I stopped being surprised by your competence within about a week of landing on the ground." Wells informs him dismissively, as if this is obvious.

Bellamy gapes at him a little. "You mean that? You decided I knew what I was doing before _Clarke_ ever even liked me?"

Wells shakes his head. "No. You won her over the first time you flashed her that smile, I'm pretty sure. She tried to hide it, but I could see straight through her."

Bellamy tries not to preen at the compliment. He tries, and fails. He's going home to Clarke soon, and she likes his smile. Her best friend told him that, and she mentioned it on the radio herself right back when she was in the lab, so it must be true. And now he comes to think about it, Wells is more or less his best friend these days, so he can trust him. He's basically his favourite person who isn't Clarke or Octavia, so best friend seems like a pretty apt description.

That's good, he decides. It's ironic, too – he never would have seen this coming, nearly six years ago, when he shot Jaha Senior in the guts, but he's glad it has turned out like this. The five year separation from Clarke has been nightmarish in so many ways. But it has its positives, too. He's got Wells out of it, and Clarke has Madi, and soon they'll have each other back, too.

All's well that ends well. He likes the sound of that.

…...

They have enough fuel. In fact, they have more than enough fuel – Raven even looks confident, as they run through arrangements for the return to the ground.

"Do we know where in the green space Clarke is living?" Raven asks Bellamy. "Can you be any more exact than that? Has she said anything?"

"I'll ask her." He says, trying to keep a straight face. He can almost allow himself to laugh at her _knackered radio_ and five years of being unheard, now that it is about to be over.

"Bellamy -"

"No, she hasn't given me detailed instructions. I think she's towards the south-east of the green patch, from what she's said about how she found it and the distance to the lake."

"OK. So we head for the south-east of the green patch. And we hope that Clarke sees a rocket dropping out of the sky and thinks 'hey, maybe I should check that out'." Raven offers.

"She'll be there." Wells offers, soft and confident.

Bellamy seriously hopes that is the truth.

…...

He listens to Clarke on the radio one last time before they go home. She tells him that it's five years to the day, today, and he feels himself grinning from ear to ear.

He'll be able to see her, soon. He'll be able to hold her, and she'll be able to hear him when he speaks.

He replies to her one last time, though. Makes one last attempt to be heard, more for old time's sake than because he expects a response.

"I love you." He murmurs, over the radio into the silence. "I need to tell you that. Just in case something goes wrong on the journey. Or in case – in case when we get back, it turns out I've been hearing you wrong all these years. In case maybe you kept my jacket for some other reason." He laughs at himself a little. He doesn't see any other viable reason for keeping a friend's jacket for five years whilst calling them every day, now he comes to think about it.

"You'd better be on your way home." Clarke chastises him smartly. "There's something I need to tell you when you get here. Something I've spent the last five years waiting to tell you the moment you land."

He nods, although she can no more see him than hear him. And then he leaves the radio for the last time, and heads to the waiting rocket.

…...

It isn't until they have landed and Raven is on the point of opening the door that Bellamy realises something very important. There is a conversation he ought to have had with Wells, some time in the last four years and eleven months, but has quite spectacularly failed to manage.

"Who gets first hug?" He asks, a little sheepish.

Murphy laughs. Emori grins that grin of hers. Even Echo wears a wry smile. But Wells, for once in his life, does not have a good-natured politician's face pasted on – rather, his expression is more that of a belligerent member of the opposition.

"She's been my best friend since I was _born_ , Bellamy. I think I get first hug." He argues petulantly.

"But she's in love with Bellamy." Monty points out smoothly.

There is a beat of awed silence.

"What?" Monty asks, apparently flummoxed. "It's not a secret, is it? We all know it. Let Bellamy have the first hug, Wells."

"I want first hug." Bellamy states, aware that he sounds like a spoilt child, but determined nonetheless.

"She was my friend first." Wells repeats his one and only point.

Raven, now finished with the door, starts to laugh. "Pull it together, you two. You haven't argued like this since we were last on the ground. I thought you were friends now, but if you're going to start acting like this again -"

"We're good." Bellamy interrupts.

"We're friends." Wells declares, at almost exactly the same moment.

Bellamy looks askance at his best friend and makes a deal. "We both go to hug her at the same time? We let her choose?"

Wells snorts. "She'll choose you."

But he doesn't argue further, and so the matter is solved.

…...

She doesn't choose either of them, in the end. She chooses _both_ of them, sprinting out of the trees and throwing one arm around each neck until the three of them are pressed together in quite the most chaotic group hug of all time.

It's pleasant enough, Bellamy decides. Clarke's safe, and well, and half in his arms, and that ought to be better than nothing. But however much Wells might be his best friend, now, he doesn't much like the idea of having to share his reunion with Clarke with anyone.

Wells must have read his mind or something, because after a brief hug, he pulls away, and leaves Bellamy and Clarke to each other.

Bellamy's not quite sure what to do or say, now. Five years leading up to this moment, and he hasn't even planned any words. Then again, planning never was his calling in life – he's got Clarke for that.

"You're radio's knackered." He informs her, at length, still holding her tight.

She makes a confused noise against his shoulder.

"That was Wells and Raven's professional verdict. We could hear you all these years but you couldn't hear us."

She pulls away then, visibly shocked, and looks into his eyes.

He likes looking into her eyes. She has beautiful eyes, and one day, he plans to set aside a good half hour or so to tell her nothing but that, over and over and over again. But right now, he has other priorities.

He kisses her. It's a simple as that. He bends down, presses his lips to hers, feels her sigh into his mouth. This is what it feels like to arrive home, he decides – Clarke in his arms and at his lips and beneath his fingertips, Clarke filling his every thought and sense.

They stop kissing eventually, of course. They have to – Monty wants a hug, and Echo wants to pretend she doesn't want a hug, and everyone needs to share hugs.

But when the hugs are over at last, Clarke starts leading them back to her village. Bellamy falls easily into step at her side, tries to look casual as he catches her hand in his and holds it tight.

"You doing alright?" He asks her, trying for a light tone.

She nods, smiling wide. "Great. It's so good to see you home. Madi's excited to meet you."

"I can't wait to meet her, too. It's been great hearing you talk about her all these years but it made me impatient to meet her myself."

"She's heard a few stories about you, too." Clarke explains, not meeting his eye. "I hope that's OK. I hope you won't feel awkward -"

"Clarke. That's fine. It means a lot to me that you'd want to tell her about me." He swallows down fear and presses on. "How's my old jacket holding up?"

She laughs, a slightly frantic, embarrassed sound. "Not bad. Sorry you had to hear all that."

"Don't apologise. I'm just sorry you couldn't hear me reply all those years."

She looks at him, sharp. "You replied?"

"Of course I replied."

"Even though you knew I couldn't hear you?" She's wearing that half-frown he's always had a soft spot for.

"Yeah. I still had to try." He squeezes her hand for courage. "I think it kept me sane, talking to you. Even though I knew you couldn't hear me. It just made me feel closer to you. Does that sound crazy?"

"Not crazy at all." She reassures him with a smile. "That's why I kept doing it too. What kind of things did you say? What messages did I miss out on?"

This is it. This is the moment. He can do this. "Sometimes I moaned about the algae. I've gotten very into chess, so sometimes I told you about that." One last, nervous swallow. "This morning I told you that I love you."

She stops dead, tripping over nothingness as she freezes in shock. "What did you just say?"

"I love you." He repeats it, voice growing a little stronger. "That's not a surprise at this point, right? I just kissed you and told you I talked to you every day for five years."

She laughs, a warm, relaxed sound. "I love you, too. In case the jacket didn't give it away."

He kisses her again for that, fast and firm, knitting his fingers through her hair and wondering what he did to deserve such joy.

It's short-lived, though. He realises rather abruptly that they are surrounded by their friends. Indeed, since they stopped walking, the group has bunched up close behind them, sniggering between themselves in a fondly exasperated sort of way.

"Get a room." Raven recommends heartily.

"Get a room _far away_." Murphy improves upon her point.

At that moment, just to add to the chaos, a girl who can only be Madi comes bursting out of the trees and onto the scene and flings herself into Clarke and Bellamy's tangled arms.

He laughs. There is nothing else he can do, at this point. He has the rest of his life to make out with Clarke, and for now it seems like he must resign himself to hugging and good wishes from the various members of his family.

Right on cue, Wells decides to join the party, slapping Bellamy heartily on the back as he drapes an arm over Clarke's shoulder.

"What did I say, Bellamy? All's well that ends well."

"That's Shakespeare." Clarke adds helpfully.

"I know." Bellamy tells her, affectionate but quelling, and adds a kiss to the crown of her head for good measure.

He couldn't ask for a better family, and he certainly couldn't ask for better friends.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
